The Last Midnight Hour
by B-RizzleDizzle
Summary: Original female character, un-beta'd, kidnapping, violence, torture, talk of rape  possible flashbacks , and lemons later. Full summary inside. Riley Seeder was a cold case file, taken by a sadistic Master. Agent Derek Morgan meets her seven years later.
1. Prologue

**Title:** The Last Midnight Hour

**Author**: brittybritbrit on LJ (HoleyHoot on Twitter... come follow me!)

**Rating**: NC-17

**Pairings/Characters**: Morgan/OFC

**Warnings**: Original female character, un-beta'd, kidnapping, violence, torture, talk of rape (possible flashbacks), lemons later

**Disclaimer**: I don't own any of it. Sadness.

**Summary**: Riley Seeder was a cold case file. Taken when she was fourteen by a sadistic Master, she was forced into the life of a slave. Her master uses her to satisfy his sexual desires as he trains her - torturing, scarring, and ultimately breaking her. She was his pet for two and half years, only being found by chance - some hunters poaching wolves on private property. Case closed, she goes back to her parents, society, a changed girl, finishing her schooling at home and moving out quickly after to get away from the people who no longer know her. She starts to heal, physically and mentally with the help of her therapist, and finally fits in with common society again. Seven years after being taken, she meets a man. Giving him her number was the best idea she ever had. After two months of dating, she decides to tell, and show, him exactly why she stays covered... until she's taken again.

After a life of being a player, Agent Derek Morgan meets his match. The young girl in the coffee shop won't leave his mind, he's fallen hard and he hates himself for it, knowing his job will only bring her pain. She's different from the others; she won't let herself be alone with him, and he loves it. She's the only woman outside of his team that he's actually gotten to know. After a couple of months, she accepts a dinner invitation to his house. He makes sure everything perfect, knowing full well tonight will be the night he tells her how he feels... until she stands him up.

**Author's Note:** I hope even though this is an OFC fic, you'll give it a shot. If there are mistakes, please let me know so I can go in and fix them. Also, please let me know what you think; constructive criticism is welcome! Thanks to all who read and review. Enoy!

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Prologue:

"I want to hear you scream, Sweetheart." The whispered term of endearment was coated in a thick layer of disgust as it fell from the thin-lipped, scarred mouth. He had her bound, tied to the high rafters in his safe place – a place yet to be found by any other but him. He had stripped her of her warm layers, leaving her bare but for the flimsy scraps of black lace barely covering her petite breasts and firm buttocks. He enjoyed watching her back arch, her hands grip the nylon rope – sure to leave wonderful ligatures along her wrists – her ass cheeks clench every time he sent a shock through her small body. She was no more than 5'2" with short-cropped black hair hanging in her eyes; her body had yet defined itself completely as a woman having only just turned twenty-two last night. The poor thing had pissed and shit herself after the first shock; he had been nice, _caring _enough to clean her up before starting to film. He always cleaned them up before continuing; he planned on touching them – fucking them – later in every orifice available. He didn't feel like getting shit and piss on his dick; after all, they were the dirty ones, not he.

"I will never scream for you," she whispered her head resting on her right arm, chest heaving in an attempt to catch her breath, eyes closed, attempting to ignore the little red light on the camera. She knew he was recording, knew why he was recording, and she would forever deny him the pleasure she knew he would get from her screams. Not just hearing them himself, but sending the footage to her boyfriend. She knew well enough by now this man – monster – hadn't taken her completely for his own sick pleasure, but also to torture the man with whom he had been playing a great game of cat and mouse for almost two years now. Her boyfriend had told her from the beginning be careful, 'I can't possibly be any good for you.' At first she thought he meant his player status, but soon she realized why he had such a status. He was protecting people by keeping them at arms length. She was different, she knew. She hadn't fucked him the first day she met him, just gave him her number and told him to call her if he ever felt like hanging out. She had walked away from him, not really expecting him to call, but feeling proud of herself for putting herself out there like that – putting herself out there in a way she hadn't since she'd been abducted at the age of fourteen and abused both mentally and physically until she was found two and a half years later by sheer chance. They had called it 'a miracle', the people who found her; she wanted to say that the 'miracle' she had needed was not being taken in the first place, but she had been trained well to keep her whore mouth shut. He did call her, though, and set up a date for the following Friday. She had dressed up nice, careful to cover the marks, _scars_ she knew he would eventually see if she kept this thing going. He had treated her wonderfully, like she learned after years of therapy a man _should_ treat a woman – not as a pet, but a lady. It had made her feel funny, different; she had insisted on meeting him in a very public place, she still didn't trust riding in cars with anyone, not even her parents. When the date ended, he walked her to her car, standing awkwardly, something she could tell he wasn't used to, being awkward. She showed mercy by kissing his cheek and telling him she'd like to see him again sometime, but she still turned, loaded herself in her dark purple Chevrolet Chevelle and drove away, leaving him standing there to watch her leave. He had texted her that night to wish her sweet dreams. She hadn't told him she never had sweet dreams, not wanting to taint the sentiment she felt not many received from him. They had been seeing each other regularly for two months now, and still she had refrained from being alone with him in any sort of intimate way. They shared sweet, lingering kisses, but never took things too far for her to handle. Last night was going to change that. She had finally worked up the courage to tell him about her past, knowing, hoping his involvement in cases much like hers would make him more understanding and forgiving her past discrepancies – because really, she couldn't help but still blame herself, at least partly. Her master had trained her well in that sense, as well.

"I will make you scream," her attacker stated before holding the live wires against her torso once more. He watched, his eyes taking in the beautiful, erotic sight of her spasming body once more. He observe her head thrown back in pain, her mouth curling over her precious, clenched teeth, her hands tugging at the ropes above her of their own accord, her feet digging into the soft silt beneath her bare feet. He drew back, her head slouched forward. He was starting to lose his patience. What would it take for her to lose herself to him; he had just upped the power of the generator and still she did not scream. He was afraid if he upped the generator any more, he would kill her before getting to hear her beautiful wails of pain and torment. The beautiful wails he would later, after assuring her body held no aftershocks for him, use to jerk himself off inside of her. Oh yes, just thinking about it was making him semi-hard. He was angry, at her for having so much control in this, at himself for not having more control over her. "What will it take to make you scream?" he yelled, cursing himself for allowing her to make him this angry.

"I will never scream for you," she whispered again, this time swinging her head up slightly to look him in the eyes. "Do what you want with me; I will never give you what you wa – ugh." She cut herself off with a grunt as her attacker pressed the livewire to her torso once more, leaving it on a bit longer this time. She threw her had back, clenching her eyes shut tightly, recalling all of the control she had learned during the two years with her master. She hated that she had to think of that time, hated that she was grateful – _grateful! _– she had lived through those two years, if only to keep her boyfriend from having to live through watching her die, screaming and spasming, in the footage she knew he would be sent soon. She felt the ropes digging into her wrists, focusing on the pain of the skin breaking slightly, adding to her already marred and imperfect shell. She wondered what her boyfriend would think, seeing her like this, her arms, chest, stomach, legs, and back riddled with tattoos even a blind man could see. She had been afraid of the look of disgust on his face when she finally showed him the marks that stood out – some bright white, others lightly purple – against her ivory skin, afraid it would be there no matter how hard he tried to mask it with love, but at least it would have been on her terms. This was not how she wanted him to find out, this was not on her terms at all, and he would have a chance to compose himself, keep himself from making a sour face at her imperfectness. He'd be nice about it, she was sure of that. He would let her down gently, telling her he knew he wasn't good for her, she should just go on her way now, before the next time when it would be worse. A tear escaped her clenched eye as her attacker finally took the electrical current away from her body. Her head slumped forward, she spit out the saliva that had pooled in her mouth, hating herself for getting taken again. She had promised herself never again, had taken courses to defend herself from attackers. She wasn't sure it would ever be enough at this point. Her vision was blurring at the edges, a deep vignette on the darkening colors of her world. She sagged slightly, knowing her body could only take so much; she figured that must've been why her attacker stopped the current when he did. She felt her heart skip one beat, then another, then lurch forward again with a deep inhalation and a feeling of nausea. She saw feet in her limited visual plain, felt a hot, steamy breath blow over her ear, causing the nausea to settle itself semi-permanently in the pit of her stomach. She felt the acid bubble up, her mouth filled with more saliva, the bile rose to her throat, escaping inside her mouth. She stopped it there, clamping her mouth shut; she would not give her attacker the pleasure or her boyfriend the pain of watching her throw up from the overexertion on her seemingly frail body. She lifted her head the few inches she could, able to make eye contact with her aggressor.

He watched her catch the vomit in her mouth, a smirk of triumph lighting his eyes with malice. He had won, finally, if only minutely. The little slut would spit the vomit out and her boyfriend would know she was truly being tortured. His eyes caught hers as she lifted her head slightly. He knew she could see the look in his eyes, he knew she knew he had won this round, all she needed to do was spit. He watched a small smirk crawl shakily across her own mouth, a look of defiance flash in her almost unfocused eyes. He was confused until he saw her throat muscles contract and expand, her mouth parting slightly as if to show him proof of what she had just done, swallowing her own vomit, her own filth, to test his fury, keep him in check. His nostrils flared with his anger. "You. Will. Scream!" On his final word, he drew his fist back, hitting her across the face as hard as he could, effectively knocking his victim, _the bitch_, out. He walked swiftly to the camera, stopped the recording, and bent to his small laptop to make sure the disc had burned successfully. He already had a preaddressed envelope, written by his last victim. He watched the disc pop out, lifted it from its holder with his pointer and his thumb, snapped it gingerly into place within the jewel case, and slid the case into the envelope. He would hand-deliver the envelope to his favorite agent's door tomorrow morning, posing as a UPS worker, thankful he still had his old uniform and the ability to make realistic looking labels. It would be too much fun, knowing Agent Derek Morgan had seen him, talked to him, maybe even accidentally grazed fingers with him, and let him walk away – the man he would see on the disc, the man he would see torturing his girlfriend, a girlfriend that had obviously been tortured before. He wondered if Derek knew about his girlfriend's past, if it was as much a mystery to the agent as it was to him. He liked imagining that no, Derek didn't know, that this would be the first time he'd ever seen her this way, with no clothes. He had been too busy having fun with his last victim to keep tabs on the federal agent, but when he was done with her, had come around to watch the agents life like a made-for-TV movie, he was thrilled to see this jewel of a girl appear, then reappear, and reappear – a new cast member, a new main character in Agent Morgan's life. Yes, he was thrilled to see her, but even more thrilled to see the look in Derek's eyes when he looked at her; it was soft, caring, _loving. _The man he never thought would have such a weakness was finally showing traces of _love_, traces of the one thing he could use against the agent; he knew now the only thing that would hurt him more than anything else he could possibly do – taking her.

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A/N: I hope you enjoyed reading. Please let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 1

**Title:** The Last Midnight Hour

**Author**: brittybritbrit on LJ (HoleyHoot on Twitter... come follow me!)

**Rating**: NC-17

**Pairings/Characters**: Morgan/OFC

**Warnings**: Original female character, un-beta'd, kidnapping, violence, torture, talk of rape (possible flashbacks), lemons later

**Disclaimer**: I don't own any of it. Sadness.

**Summary**: Riley Seeder was a cold case file. Taken when she was fourteen by a sadistic Master, she was forced into the life of a slave. Her master uses her to satisfy his sexual desires as he trains her - torturing, scarring, and ultimately breaking her. She was his pet for two and half years, only being found by chance - some hunters poaching wolves on private property. Case closed, she goes back to her parents, society, a changed girl, finishing her schooling at home and moving out quickly after to get away from the people who no longer know her. She starts to heal, physically and mentally with the help of her therapist, and finally fits in with common society again. Seven years after being taken, she meets a man. Giving him her number was the best idea she ever had. After two months of dating, she decides to tell, and show, him exactly why she stays covered... until she's taken again.

After a life of being a player, Agent Derek Morgan meets his match. The young girl in the coffee shop won't leave his mind, he's fallen hard and he hates himself for it, knowing his job will only bring her pain. She's different from the others; she won't let herself be alone with him, and he loves it. She's the only woman outside of his team that he's actually gotten to know. After a couple of months, she accepts a dinner invitation to his house. He makes sure everything perfect, knowing full well tonight will be the night he tells her how he feels... until she stands him up.

**Author's Note:** To those that added this story to their alerts/favorites, thank you for giving an OFC fic a chance, and special thanks to my lone reviewer, **csiluver99**. I hope you enjoy this next installment of TLMH.

Super excited to get this chapter up to you guys so soon. I hope you enjoy it, and don't forget that this story is unbeta'd, so if you find any typos, please let me know!

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Chapter 1:

Derek stopped the DVD player as soon as he realized what he was watching. He cursed himself as he roughly collected the disc, jamming it back into its case, and grabbing the envelope it had come in on his way to pick up his keys from the front table. He forwent slipping his coat on; his heart was easily pumping enough blood in his limbs to keep him flushed with anger. He cursed himself again as he drove to work without having donned proper work attire, still in his gray hoodie and black basketball shorts, his morning workout clothes. He knew everyone else would be in by the time he got there, even though he was speeding, he realized, somewhat recklessly. He cursed himself for doubting her, for thinking she had stood him up and sent his calls straight to voicemail. He had been pissed off last night, had gotten almost no sleep, thinking of how if he ever saw her again, he would yell at her for breaking past his defenses just to leave him alone. He remembered the morning he had first seen her, remembered that she didn't quite fit in with the other kids at the coffee shop. It was a young, college hipster scene, but the coffee was good, better than at the BAU. She was young, looked about nineteen, maybe twenty – young enough to be his daughter had he ended up being a father. It was her eyes that had drawn him to her, made her seem like she didn't belong. He watched as she scanned… everything with such intensity – the ceilings, the floors, the people around her, the people across the room. Her eyes had momentarily lifted to his, but he looked away quickly, feeling kind of like an old pervert. When he got his coffee, he had to walk past her to get back out the front door. He looked up to notice her watching him with those eyes – those powerful eyes, eyes that told him of wisdom, possibly pain, beyond her years. She offered a small smile, which he returned hesitantly. He approached her slowly, actually feeling nervous, as if he knew, even then, that this – she – was different.

"Hi, I'm Derek," he said with as much confidence as he could muster while feeling older next to this young, flawless beauty. He saw her shift slightly, bringing the sketchbook he had just noticed – since when did he _not_ notice things – up to her chest, hiding its contents. His brows furrowed slightly at seeing her long sleeves, stopping at her knuckles; it wasn't that cold yet, but she was kind of skinny, maybe she didn't have enough meat on her bones to keep her as warm as he. Derek let his eyes meet hers once more, waiting for her to respond. Her eyes searched his and he suddenly felt rather foolish for thinking such a pretty young thing would be interested in him. He was good at getting the honeys, that wasn't a problem, his type of honeys were just usually women that were beyond easy to read, not girls with piercing eyes that searched his for something, he wasn't sure what. And now that he was thinking of her as a girl, not a woman, he was thinking of himself in a slightly pedophilic manner. He was starting to think maybe he should leave, until he saw a switch in her cerulean eyes.

"Would you like to sit, Derek?" She removed her feet from the chair across from her and watched as he looked slightly taken aback. She was nervous; her heart was pounding in her chest. She wondered if this man, with his bulging muscles that seemed to flex of their own accord, would end up being like Master, malicious and violent, but she knew she couldn't think like that. He seemed nice enough, he didn't have the glint of evil always lurking in his eyes the way Master had. She knew evil when she saw it – that was the only emotion she could read clear as day, having lived with it for so long. She noticed how ill-fitting the dark hue of his skin seemed to appear against his obviously Caucasian features – he was mixed, and he was beautiful; there was no doubt about either. She tugged at her shirt sleeves, mentally pleading for them to grow longer, even though they were already well past her wrists. She had taken to wearing dark colors – clothes that, even wet, would not reveal the markings plaguing her skin. Most of her clothes were frumpy, including what she was currently wearing. She wasn't sure why this man had stopped to introduce himself, was even more confused by the fact that she had wanted him to. Though boys her age had looked at her, she knew none of them would be able to handle the consequences of being with her. The trials and tribulations of having a girlfriend that would be permanently marked by another man was something boys her age couldn't understand. This was the only man that had looked at her since Master, and she wondered, worried if that made them in any way similar. At the thought, her hand went to the charm around her neck, a suggestion from her therapist. 'This way, it's your choice. You take it off when you're ready. You are your own master.' The thought helped relax her, allowed the tension in her shoulders to ease slightly. _I am my own master. _She watched Derek slide gracefully into the proffered chair, taking in his dark slacks and maroon t-shirt. She decided that he was too well-dressed to be spending time in a coffee shop, chatting with a stranger; he was on his way somewhere. "Where are you headed this morning?"

Derek looked up as he heard the soft words fall from her lips – lips that he noticed were supple and smooth, like someone had taken great care to apply moisturizing balm every night before sleep. Noticing he was officially gawking at her mouth, Derek shook himself out of his momentary hypnosis. "I'm actually supposed to be on my way to work right now." He smiled, letting her know with his look that he thought she was more important than being a few minutes late. If his work needed him for something important, JJ, his team's communications director, would call him, no question. He watched a small smile play over her lips, noticed slight dimples appear; he wondered what a full beam would look like, dimples and all. He bet she was even more beautiful then. He studied her face for a moment, observing the way her eyes darted from studying his body to her coffee. He thought it was sweet, that she couldn't look at him the way she had only a few minutes ago now that he was sitting directly across from her. She was pale, not usually the kind of girl he went for. He learned at a young age that when one was born mixed, one had to choose which color to define themselves as. He had chosen the token black guy, that being the kind of obvious choice anyway. He had dated – no, never dated – slept with black girls, Latinas, even a few dark-skinned white girls, but he had never been with someone so _obviously _opposite himself; it was almost as if she never left the house, which clearly was not the case. He watched her shift again, pulling her sleeves down as she looked up to meet his eyes then away once more. He realized, belatedly, that he was making her extremely uncomfortable. He chastised himself and attempted to alleviate her discomfort. "I don't know your name yet." He thought it only fair; he had given her his name straight up, and she had given him a seat in return when he what he really wanted, he now discovered, was to be able to call her by name.

Her heart sped; not many people had asked for her name like this, and each time was near torture for her to speak. She wasn't used to speaking to people, her sessions with her therapist notwithstanding. Even her therapist had to coach her through her thoughts most days; it was rare for her to go off on a tangent, still remembering every lesson Master had taught her so long ago. They still stuck, she still even found herself sleeping on the floor at the foot of the bed most nights. That's just where she felt most comfortable, and her therapist never told her it was wrong, just encouraged her to work her way to the bed itself some nights. "Riley." She didn't elaborate, even though she was sure common courtesy called for such. She just wasn't sure what to elaborate with. Nice to meet you? Charmed, I'm sure? Neither seemed like the appropriate phrase for the way she was feeling. My heart is beating out of my chest because you're the first real man I've talked to since being released from captivity and allowed to wander back into the wild? That seemed about right, but she doubted he would want to hear that. Most people took one look into her eyes and thought she was crazy, kept their distances, because they didn't want the crazy to rub off on them. He was the opposite; he had not only looked into her eyes, but had walked right up and introduced himself, as though he saw something there no one else could, as though he knew what she was hiding. She wondered if he was a therapist, he was looking at her the same way her therapist did when she was trying to get something out of her, attempting to read her. Deciding occupation seemed like a safe enough topic for discussion, she finally ventured on. "What do you do, exactly?"

Derek noticed her, _Riley's_, voice crack slightly on 'what', as if her voice wasn't familiar with being used. He smiled a little more, happy she was talking with him, even if she did seem slightly hesitant, though he couldn't bring himself to understand why. "I work in the behavioral analysis unit for the FBI." He saw her confusion, not many people outside of law enforcement knew what the BAU did, and even fewer, including law enforcement, believed in it. He watched her teeth come out to nibble on her lower lip, before she stopped abruptly to drink a swig of coffee and pull out some gum. He watched her slide the packet across the table to him, silently offering a piece of what he saw was Bubblemint flavored gum. He wasn't sure what Bubblemint tasted like, usually preferring spearmint himself, but he took a piece, not wanting to seem rude and, if he were completely honest with himself, curious to know what her mouth would taste like if he kissed her right now. He slid the pack back wordlessly, popping the piece of gum in his mouth. He observed her take her own piece out carefully, strategically folding the paper back up and sticking it in its previous place inside the pack. "Why did you do that?" He couldn't help the question from escaping his lips. She was fascinating, and he wanted to know what made her tick. What made her wear slightly baggy, almost too big clothes for her obviously petite frame? What made her keep tugging at her sleeves like she was forever wishing they would grow long enough to use as rope darts, to take down anyone that attempted to approach her?

Riley looked up, stunned he had noticed her peculiar way of saving gum wrappers. "When I was little, I watched a crow eat a piece of bubblegum off the sidewalk. He wasn't able to swallow it, choked to death. I'll need the wrapper later when I spit this piece out." She smiled shyly, not knowing if he would think she was crazy or not. She watched a slow grin crawl across his face, but she still wasn't quite sure what that meant. She wanted to divert his attention away from her, aim it at something far more appealing. She had been confused by the statement about his job. Was the behavioral analysis unit like a group of therapists? She didn't understand why the FBI would need a group of therapists… let alone why a therapist would want to work in a group. She had been to a few therapists – always seemingly smug in themselves, they would be far better than her last – during her 'reformation' into society, always switching because her mother didn't think they were good enough for her little 'Amanda'. Her mother never understood that Amanda was lost the day she was taken by Master, never understood that even though she wasn't being raped or tortured by him anymore, she was anything but free from him. Amanda had been the name he called her the night he took her. He had called for her by name out of his car window, before most of the 'stranger danger' nonsense. And that's what it was, nonsense; didn't people know that most abductors were people that knew the children, the family? Of course they did, they just didn't want to admit to the things they saw right in front of their faces; even she hadn't wanted to admit it, not at first. She hadn't wanted to admit that when he looked at her, goose bumps riddled her arms and legs, causing every hair yet to be unnaturally removed by a straight edge – her mother's rule, not allowed to shave until she was sixteen – to stand on end. She had gone to him when he called her name, had walked right up to his car window like it was the safest thing in the world. She figured it was, though, safe to walk up to his window when there was still enough light out for anyone to see her. The problem wasn't the amount of light the sun was still drizzling over the earth's surface, providing a few more hazy moments of relief before turning itself off and allowing the moon to work as a nightlight for the nyctophobic. The problem was the amount of people not existent on the street, no one to see him step out of his driver door, ask her for a hand carrying some boxes up to his front porch, not wanting to have to take more than one trip up the walk. She had agreed, because he hadn't said she would have to carry them inside, and also because she knew if word got back to her mother that she had refused, she would get an earful on proper etiquette and family embarrassment and blah, blah, blah. She stayed a safe distance as he popped the trunk, got slightly closer for him to hand her some boxes; she remembered them feeling light, too light for anything to actually be in them. That's when he'd sprayed her in the face. She still didn't know what he had used, only remembered that it burned so badly she was blinded. Dropping the boxes and attempting to turn, she felt his hands quickly grab hold and heave her into what she assumed from the feel and location of where she had landed was the trunk of his car. She heard the door close and attempted to bang on what she thought was the top of the enclosed space. She heard another door close and the engine start, felt the turns and weaves they had made, had kept count, for some reason thinking counting would help. She remembered how he had said her name, _Amanda, _like a gift he'd been given from God himself, remembered how the next few days of blindness had been made only slightly better by the coddling and babying, nursing his prize back to health, remembered how once she was able to see again, her name was sneered, like a curse, _fuck, Amanda, _same thing, it seemed. She could never be Amanda again after that. Her mother never understood, was never told all the horrors her baby girl had gone through, had never wanted to hear. Mother dearest had only wanted her little Amanda back, which she, as well as each of her therapists, knew would never happen. Therapists in a group didn't make sense to her, but she knew the government had ways of making people conform, maybe they had brainwashed them into getting along with one another. "So are you a therapist then?" As she watched his brow quirk to the side slightly, she decided to elaborate a bit. "Behavioral analysis, that's what therapists do, don't they? Analyze behavior?"

Derek was taken aback. She thought he was therapist. He couldn't help the smile that grew, stretching across his face and flashing his perfectly straight, white teeth. A little chuckle escaped his lips as he thought about how to answer her. "I guess I kind of am? I mean, I'm a part of team that gets called in by local law enforcement to profile killers in order to catch them. I'm technically what's known as a profiler." He caught the look of shock in her eyes as they finally met his. He held her gaze for a bit, wondering what she was thinking. He had never divulged that much information about his job to the women he was trying to seduce, they had never really asked. They heard FBI agent and thought of him as their James Bond for the night, maybe sometimes they thought of more than the night, but he never did. He couldn't if he wanted to keep everyone safe. He wouldn't allow someone to wait at home worried sick that he might not come back from a trip. He had seen how Hotch and Haley's marriage had failed, not because of lack of love, but because of his job. He didn't want that, didn't want to fall in love with someone, depend on someone, only to have them leave. He already had enough issues as it was, what with losing his dad at such a young age, then being taken advantage of by the person that was supposed to help him, the person he had been forced to depend on for help. He had vowed not to show someone that much dependence again, but here he was, sitting across from a – this – beautiful girl with astonished eyes. He wasn't sure why she was so astonished to hear about what he did for a living, but maybe he would learn if he spent enough time with her. He wanted to spend that time with her, and that had a nervous shudder raking its way up his spine. He didn't want to be taken advantage of again, but he thought maybe if he was careful with this girl, maybe if he took it extremely slowly, or what would be considered extremely slowly for him, all things considered, she could be a friend. He felt his brows furrow slightly; he knew he didn't really want her to be just a friend, but at this point, there wasn't much else he could offer without having a real relationship, and that's something he just didn't think he was ready for.

He was pulled from his thoughts as he screeched to a halt in the parking garage, knowing that if he parked anywhere else, he'd have to leave the office to park his car properly; the Bureau was ridiculously picky like that. Even if there was an emergency, the fire lanes needed to be left available in case of a different kind of emergency, because that made complete and total sense to everyone. Morgan hopped from his SUV, envelope and disc in hand. He'd have to get the envelope sent off for fingerprints and he'd have to show the video to his team. They needed to be on this case, he knew deep down that he was too close to this case, but he also knew that his team was the best; there was no substitute for Reid. And he hoped that Hotch would still allow him to work the case, thinking he would understand, especially after losing Hailey the way he had. He ran to the front doors, still not feeling the biting cold of the winter months; his adrenaline was pumping nonstop. Noticing his shaking hands as he opened the front door to the Bureau, he decided to take the stairs instead of wait for the elevator. He was afraid he would punch something, anything, if he had to stand still for that long around that many people. He climbed the stairs three at a time, reaching the storey housing the different BAU teams faster than he would've had he waited for the slow monstrosity they tried to pass off as an elevator. He yanked the stairwell door open, the grating metal sound causing his entire team to turn to him, eyes wide. They were taking in his appearance, profiling him, assessing that obviously something was wrong, but what? He saw Hotch turn around the corner of the coffee station and approached him, marching up assertively.

Hotch saw Morgan approaching, not quite sure what to make of his sweat-stained clothes and ragged breathing. He stopped, waiting for the young agent to make his way to him. Something was wrong, really wrong, that much was clear. He knew for a fact everyone of his team members was present and accounted for, had known that Morgan was running late this morning, had been running late a lot recently, but thought from the way he was smiling more, seemed happy, that he had finally found someone to spend more than one night with. It was clear by the way Morgan carried himself this morning that Hotch was wrong to assume the best. He reprimanded himself for not saying something to Morgan sooner, digging deeper than just the surface appearance. Hotch was surprised how Morgan came right up to him, almost getting in his face, holding out a yellow bubble DVD mailer.

"I need you to tell JJ we can't take any cases; I need the team on this one." Derek watched Hotch's eyes widen in panicked understanding. He watched his superior nod once in understanding, before turning to head to the conference room, knowing there was a DVD player at the ready. He didn't wait to hear what Hotch told the rest of the team, just set everything up and waited for his team, including Garcia, to walk hurriedly into the room and find their seats. "This was delivered to me this morning." He hit the play button, watching as the scene came clear on the screen. He had recognized the dark hair, the ivory skin, the delicate slope of her jaw, the smooth pout of her lips. This face belonged to his girl, his beautiful, amazing girl. It was obvious from this first image that she was being restrained, and he had stopped the video immediately to head in and get his team working on the case, needing them to help him save his girl. He watched now as the recording played on, the camera zooming out to reveal his girl's body. A body he had yet to see in real life. He heard Garcia gasp and fought to keep himself from gasping at the sight of her, all those scars. Something had happened to his girl before, something obviously bad. It didn't take a genius to tell that the marks showing on her body weren't new, but grown over with time. How much time, he didn't know, but he did know she was only just legal drinking age. How long ago could she have gotten those scars for them to be healed over that well? And more importantly, what had happened to her? The video wasn't focused enough to show exactly what kind of scars they were; he would have Garcia enhance the footage after this viewing. A masked figure stepped suddenly into the frame, pulling a chair with him to sit himself comfortably in front of Riley. "Motherfucker," Derek swore as he, as long as the rest of his team, realized who had sent him this footage. They had all had their own killer, someone to stalk and torment, taunt and tease them with words, acts, and now, for Derek, people. This was another reason he had kept women at arm's length; this killer had yet to be caught, and they still didn't know what he looked like.

"Agent Morgan! And team, of course. How are you doing this fine November morning? Oh, please, don't bother answering; I'm sure I already know. You, my dear agent, are feeling helpless, lost, maybe even _heartbroken._" At this, the masked man stood, whisking the chair out of the camera plain. The man turned to walk toward his victim, circling her slowly. The team could see all of her, from the rope coming up from her bound hands to her feet, barely touching the ground with the balls of her feet. "See, I've been busy lately, too busy to keep tabs on you, but once I was free, about two weeks ago, mind you, I tracked you down, sir. And guess what I found." He grabbed her face; she grunted with disapproval, but was incapable of fending him off while bound. Derek could see the defiance in her eyes, could see she didn't intend for him to win. A fleeting sense of pride shot through him, mingled and overpowered by his heart beating furiously, pumping fear throughout his system, fear of what was about to happen to his girl – something bad, something he wasn't sure he could watch, but would force himself to watch, of that, he was sure. "I found _you_, Agent Morgan. You and this fine young thing you seem to have picked yourself up. Tell me, where did you find this fine young filly?" He turned to the camera to ask his questions, turning back to the girl quickly and waving a hand in dismissal. "Never you mind; it doesn't really matter. What _really _matters is what your team thinks of her. Oh, wait!" Again, he turned back to the camera, walking closer, bending lower to look right in the lens, right at Derek. "Does your team even _know_ about your little love affair? You are a team of profilers after all, but usually people don't want to see what right in front of them. Isn't that right, sweetheart?" He turned back to Riley, waiting for her answer. Derek tensed more; he had never addressed the victims in his other videos like this, had never asked a question he'd expected an answer to.

"Go to hell." Morgan almost smiled at how tough she sounded, almost. He quickly saw the anger flash in the killer's eyes, his whole body stiffen and turn to walk out of the visual plane. He came back moments later, and Morgan knew what he was about to do, had to force his eyes to stay on the screen as he watched the monster hold the livewire to his girl – her head thrown back, teeth clenched, body spasming. No sound. He had expected to hear sound – screaming, yelling, crying – just like he knew the others had. He knew the other girls this man had taken were killed as soon as he'd heard enough of their screaming to get off on. But his girl remained silent, her body fell limp when the livewire was removed from her side. She was heaving for breath as her attacker leaned in to whisper, "I want to hear you scream, Sweetheart."

Reid was watching the video intently, taking in every possible clue he could find. It was obviously the same location as the other videos they had been sent, but something was different. He struggled with his mind to figure out what, but he couldn't quite place it. He watched as the frame pan out to show the girl's body; that's when it clicked. She looked different from the others. The other girls that were taken had been womanly in features and body; this was obviously not a fully developed woman. The killer had chosen someone younger; maybe that was why Morgan had been so upset when he came in. Reid had only ever seen him that upset a few times and it usually had to do with cases involving child victims. This girl wasn't a child though, but he supposed close enough to warrant the same reaction from Morgan. After all, he still called Reid 'kid' from time to time. Reid took in the scars on the girl's body. This wasn't the first time she had been tortured. He counted burn marks, cuts, and quite a bit of currently unnamable marks; he'd have to get Garcia to enhance the footage in order to identify what or, Reid worried, _who_ had hurt her before.

Prentiss went back and forth from watching the screen to watching Agent Morgan. There was something different about this girl; she could tell by the way the killer had taunted Morgan with her, had asked if the team 'knew about her.' She wondered if Morgan had been dating someone, but thought that was ridiculous, seeing him as the man's man of the team. There was no way he would be serious about someone, but then again, if he weren't serious about her, why was he clenching his jaw so hard she was afraid his teeth would crush from the force? She looked back at the screen in time to see the girl get shocked. Prentiss felt a proud of the girl for not screaming, thought maybe – prayed – if the girl kept refusing, she would be able to stay alive long enough for the team to find her.

Rossi and Hotch exchanged glances after the attacker's intro. They knew that wasn't like him, to introduce the victim to everyone, parade her around like a mail order bride. He had done that strictly so they would no this girl meant something special to the agent, as if seeing him storm in through the staircase in his workout attire hadn't already raised that red flag. Hotch knew he wouldn't be able to keep Morgan from working this case; he just hoped the agent would have enough self awareness to know when he was getting himself in too deep, getting too close to work the case appropriately. Rossi was sure in Derek's feelings for the girl, but knew they would have to get him to admit that to the team in order for everyone to be on the same page – why Morgan was more anxious about this hostage than any other, not that he hadn't been anxious about the others, but this was different. It was obvious to everyone, even Reid, who Rossi was sure had yet to connect the emotional attachment of Derek to the girl.

Garcia had left the room soon after seeing what was happening to the poor girl, knowing that if there was a disc with burned video footage on it, then there was a computer burning the disc. She figured she would be better suited to help Morgan get this girl back alive if she was working on tracking down that computer. If she was being honest with herself, though, she was also hurt. Derek had never told her anything about this girl, and it was obvious she was someone who was important to him. Sure she probably would have warned him to be careful because she was obviously young, much younger than he, but she wouldn't have told him not to go for it, not once she saw the look in his eyes that she'd seen when he first started playing the video. He had looked at that girl like she was _his_, like she belonged right by his side, like he _loved_ her. Why wouldn't he tell Garcia something like that? Why wouldn't he confide in her? It's not like she couldn't keep secrets. Just because she didn't like keeping secrets didn't mean she wouldn't. She would do anything for Morgan. He was her best friend.

JJ had watched Garcia leave, sure that seeing the video had upset her on more than one level. She made a mental note to send Morgan down to talk to Garcia after they each started on their tasks to help this girl. She watched as the video progressed, the attacker upping the current he sent streaming through the girl's body, only to be denied of crying again. The girl bucked and spasmed, cut off in mid-sentence, a surprise attack by the killer in hopes of eliciting sounds of pain. The girl continued to withhold, seeming to know exactly why the killer wanted to hear her, knowing that the kill would soon follow her submission. Watching, it almost seemed as though the girl had the power, even not being a real profiler, JJ could see that much. She wasn't sure what had spurred the final out lash of anger from the UnSub, but she was sure Reid had seen it, figured it out.

The video stopped, cutting to fuzz, and Morgan took a moment to compose himself before turning to the rest of his team. He could feel his eyes pricking, but didn't want his team to see him like that, weak. After a few deep breaths, he turned, waiting for Hotch to ask what he was sure was on everyone else's mind. He noticed Garcia wasn't in her seat and wondered if he should go talk to her after he told the rest of the team about his secret affair. He looked up at Hotch, signaling his willingness to talk. A slight nod from Hotch told Derek that he already knew what was going on, but the rest of the team needed to be filled in if they were going to take this case any further. Derek took another deep breath before saying what they were all waiting to hear. "She's my girlfriend. He took my girlfriend."

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**A/N: **So I'm having a problem, and I need your help. Since this UnSub is a man who's been torturing and killing women and taunting Morgan for years, I figure he should have a name. I'm perfectly happy calling him 'the killer', 'the unsub', and whatnot, but I figure you, as avid fic readers, would want something more. I've used most of my writing juices to write this chapter so quickly and I'm starting on the next chapter as you read this. So if you have any name ideas for my killer, message me or leave a review. I'd be forever grateful.

As always, let me know what you thought of the chapter!


	3. Chapter 2

**Title:** The Last Midnight Hour

**Author**: brittybritbrit on LJ (HoleyHoot on Twitter... come follow me!)

**Rating**: NC-17

**Pairings/Characters**: Morgan/OFC

**Warnings**: Original female character, un-beta'd, kidnapping, violence, torture, talk of rape (possible flashbacks), lemons later

**Disclaimer**: I don't own any of it. Sadness.

**Summary**: Riley Seeder was a cold case file. Taken when she was fourteen by a sadistic Master, she was forced into the life of a slave. Her master uses her to satisfy his sexual desires as he trains her - torturing, scarring, and ultimately breaking her. She was his pet for two and half years, only being found by chance - some hunters poaching wolves on private property. Case closed, she goes back to her parents, society, a changed girl, finishing her schooling at home and moving out quickly after to get away from the people who no longer know her. She starts to heal, physically and mentally with the help of her therapist, and finally fits in with common society again. Seven years after being taken, she meets a man. Giving him her number was the best idea she ever had. After two months of dating, she decides to tell, and show, him exactly why she stays covered... until she's taken again.

After a life of being a player, Agent Derek Morgan meets his match. The young girl in the coffee shop won't leave his mind, he's fallen hard and he hates himself for it, knowing his job will only bring her pain. She's different from the others; she won't let herself be alone with him, and he loves it. She's the only woman outside of his team that he's actually gotten to know. After a couple of months, she accepts a dinner invitation to his house. He makes sure everything perfect, knowing full well tonight will be the night he tells her how he feels... until she stands him up.

**Author's Note:** To those that added this story to their alerts/favorites, thank you for giving an OFC fic a chance, and special thanks to my two reviewers, **csiluver99 **and **crime reader expert**.

I went with **crime reader expert's **villain name, 'The Taunter.' **Csiluver99's **suggestion, 'Michael Jefferies' will be used for a different character within the next upcoming chapters.

I know this chapter's a bit shorter than the last one, but most of Riley's chapters will be around this word count (roughly 2000). I hope you enjoy it, and don't forget that this story is unbeta'd, so if you find any typos, please let me know!

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Chapter 2:

Riley woke groggily early the next day. She was confused before the previous day's events came back, flooding her brainwaves with fleeting memories – hesitation at Derek's door, being grabbed from behind, bound, blindfolded, hauled into the back of what she assumed was a van, counting the time between turns, hoisted, tied, tortured. She looked around quickly, assessing her solitude, checking to make sure the camera wasn't recording. Riley knew what she had to do, knew from years of torment and abuse that if she didn't make it out of here soon, her chances of being found alive were slim. She remembered the only reason she'd been found alive the first time, her refusal to act on the only escape Master had given her. Every day after waking and every night before bed, he would drag her by the hair into a bloodstained room, blood from victims before. He would toss her into a corner, walk to the door and set down a gun equipped with one bullet. "If you truly wish to be free, you know what you have to do." With those words, he would leave her, locking the door behind him. He would not return for one hour, one hour he would leave her alone in that room with the wood floors and paneled walls painted in stale blood. For one hour she would sit, staring at the gun, wishing there was a way she could shoot herself, kill herself. She never would, not when she knew he would just find someone else – someone like her, someone to torture, mutilate, rape. She would never kill herself, would never be free. She would stay alive and take his beatings, whatever they may be, if only to save someone else from going through this. "Just remember, this is your consent. You have asked me to do this," Master's words upon his return to drag her to the 'play room' or back to the bedroom, depending on morning or night. "If you didn't want this, you would have killed yourself," as he chained or tied her up, only to burn, slice, mark her as his, take her any way he saw fit. Thinking of the next victims was always what helped her stay strong then, and now she thought of Derek. She had to make it out of here alive for him. She had seen how he reacted when he first told her about 'The Taunter,' had seen the unshed tears he had for all the victims lost because he 'couldn't nail the bastard down.' He had told her, though she knew it had been difficult for him, trusting someone like that, about the way he tortured them, taunting him with videos. His team had been searching for the killer for roughly a little over a year now, and he'd been killing women, playing with them, for even longer. Derek had outlined the reason he tortured was for the screams, which he would relive with the lifeless body later, multiple times as far as forensics could tell. He told her how even though he knew they had enough DNA evidence that would send him straight to death row once he was found, he was afraid they might never catch him, or worse, he would be released or escape. He told her how he thought the only way this man would stop killing completely was to be killed, and he would gladly do it – he would be all too willing to lose his badge, his gun, just for the reassurance that this man would never kill again. Riley knew she had to keep Derek from watching her die, as she knew he had watched all the others. She would continue to let herself be tortured, would continue to withhold the one thing she knew meant most to her captor, her screams. They would forever remain hidden within her, bound as she was, for Derek's sake.

She thought of the things she needed to do now. She knew she needed to assess her power, knew she needed to somehow tell Derek to find her old case file, though she wasn't sure how to go about the latter. Focusing on the former, she used the time her captor was away to check her strength, calculate the different ways she could get free. She thought first of dislocating her thumb, but quickly realized that would only work if she did both – not wise if she had to fight. She attempted to reach the chair with her foot, had stretched and arched, even swung slightly – knew if she could just reach it, she could use it as a stool to untie herself with her teeth; she had learned a lot about knots during her time with Master, learned a lot about everything. She looked down the length of her body; her feet and legs were free, but with the balls of her feet barely touching the soft dirt beneath her, she had no leverage. She'd have to wait for him to come close – close enough to use him as the leverage she'd need to take him down. She wasn't sure how she would manage that, but she knew she'd have to find a way in order to survive. In the meantime, she needed to make sure her strength was ready to call upon. She wrapped her hands around the length of rope holding her hands in place above her head. She inhaled deeply before pulling her knees to her chest slowly, grunting with the exertion. "One," she breathed, lowering her knees as slowly as she had raised them, stopping halfway to extend her legs fully in front of her, counting to ten, then lowering them fully. Repeat. Again. One more. Another. That's enough. She would need to save her strength, keep it up, stay physically prepared to take down her attacker any way she was able. She couldn't let her captor see her breathless like this, lest he know what she'd been doing, know that she'd be ready for the attack when the opportunity presented itself. She would keep practicing, keep her strength up. Her body had become used to going with no food or drink while with Master; she hoped her body would regress back to that time, would be able to keep its strength up despite lack of food and water. She knew even if he tried to feed her, she would refuse it, not wanting to possibly poison herself with some kind of toxin. She thought of ways she could tell Derek to search for her file, thought that knowing where her Master had stayed hidden for years might help Derek find places her current captor could be residing. He had to be semi-close to the city, but far enough out of the way that no one would hear suspicious screaming, even from echoes. If she could talk to Derek, if her captor would let her speak to him through the video, maybe she could give him some sort of tip, call herself 'Amanda,' knowing Derek knew she was really 'Riley.' She didn't think her captor knew her name, didn't think he'd cared enough to learn it. She tried to think of the exact information that was in her file – pictures, both of herself and the crime scene, Master's real name, a detailed report of her injuries, including evidence from the rape kit they'd run, her therapists' names throughout the years, her current therapist, her parents' names. He would essentially learn everything there was to know about her.

She hoped he would talk to her current therapist before contacting her parents. She knew he would contact them, but at least her therapist could inform him that she hadn't spoken to her parents since she was seventeen, could tell him the reasons why she didn't speak to them. She knew he would tell her parents about their relationship, however new it might be. She wasn't sure how her parents would react, if they would be devastated she was dating a black man, even though he was really mixed, or if they'd be elated by the fact that she was dating anyone at all. She wished she could warn him about her father's temper, how it had flared the only time she had kissed anyone other than Master, before she'd been taken. He had walked in on her kissing July Herring, her best friend. They had been twelve at the time, had just started being interested in boys their age, but didn't want their first kisses to be awful, sloppy, and meaningless, as July's older sister had warned them about. They hadn't been interested in each other that way, just interested in both having a first kiss that was with someone who meant something to them. Their lips had just met, had just molded together in the perfect way little pecking kisses did, when her father walked into the room. He'd been so angry, he'd thrown a lamp across the room, sent July home, informed her parents of what had happened, and forbid Riley to ever even speak to her again. They had kept up their friendship of course, but not outside of school, not where people – their parents – could see them. They never kissed each other again, let alone boys their age. They'd been too scared after their parents' blowups, had thought their blowups were based on them kissing, too naïve to see it wasn't the action, but whom they were with when the action occurred. She remembered after she had been found being worried how mad her father would be with her after finding out everything she'd let Master do to her. How many lamps would he throw, she wondered. Of course, he never blamed her to her face, probably more because he didn't say anything to her after she returned than because he didn't blame her. She remembered waking in the middle of the night a year after being returned, walking slowly, quietly around the unlit house, toward a noise coming from her father's study. She had looked through the crack in the door, had seen her father slumped in his desk chair, hunched over papers, a bottle of scotch held tight in his grip, head resting in his other hand, sobbing, crying. She had frozen momentarily, unsure what to do. Deciding to take a chance, she'd reached for the door, pushed it open far enough for her to slip through, far enough for a tiny creak to make its way to her father's ears, alerting him that someone was in the room with him. He had jolted upright, looked at her with crazed, wide eyes. "Get out," he'd ordered, his voice making her stop dead. He had sounded like Master, voice low, menacing, ordering. She had frozen, reverted back to what she knew – feet shoulder-width apart, palms flat against sides of thighs, back straight, shoulders back, lower head, eyes downcast, slave. "Get out!" The crashing of the bottle of scotch hitting the wall to her right broke her of her trance, caused her to make eye contact once more. She knew he'd seen it, knew by the sobering in his eyes, she was scared – more scared of him than she'd ever been, even after he'd found her kissing July. Then she saw it, in his eyes, the hatred. He hated her for what she had allowed to happen, and she couldn't blame him. She'd turned then, and ran – ran down the stairs and right out the front door, barefoot in pajamas. She hadn't been back since. She was sure her father would hate her more once he was called in to answer some questions about her past. She was sure her mother would cry, denying anything bad could ever happen to her little _Amanda_, as she always did. She was sure her therapist would be the most helpful of sources, hoped again that Derek would start with her. She just had to get her captor to let her speak to him. She could make herself sound weak, make herself sound as though just listening to her speak would be torture enough for Derek. Then maybe her captor would use it to his advantage, the way she would use it to hers.

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**A/N: **As always, let me know what you're thinking! Also, come visit me on the forums for status updates, teasers, and excerpts for The Last Midnight Hour. direct link: forum (dot) fanfiction (dot) net/forum/The_Last_Midnight_Hour_by_BRizzleDizzle/81814/


	4. Chapter 3

**Title:** The Last Midnight Hour

**Author**: brittybritbrit on LJ (HoleyHoot on Twitter... come follow me!)

**Rating**: NC-17

**Pairings/Characters**: Morgan/OFC

**Warnings**: Original female character, un-beta'd, kidnapping, violence, torture, talk of rape (possible flashbacks), lemons later

**Disclaimer**: I don't own any of it. Sadness.

**Summary**: Riley Seeder was a cold case file. Taken when she was fourteen by a sadistic Master, she was forced into the life of a slave. Her master uses her to satisfy his sexual desires as he trains her - torturing, scarring, and ultimately breaking her. She was his pet for two and half years, only being found by chance - some hunters poaching wolves on private property. Case closed, she goes back to her parents, society, a changed girl, finishing her schooling at home and moving out quickly after to get away from the people who no longer know her. She starts to heal, physically and mentally with the help of her therapist, and finally fits in with common society again. Seven years after being taken, she meets a man. Giving him her number was the best idea she ever had. After two months of dating, she decides to tell, and show, him exactly why she stays covered... until she's taken again.

After a life of being a player, Agent Derek Morgan meets his match. The young girl in the coffee shop won't leave his mind, he's fallen hard and he hates himself for it, knowing his job will only bring her pain. She's different from the others; she won't let herself be alone with him, and he loves it. She's the only woman outside of his team that he's actually gotten to know. After a couple of months, she accepts a dinner invitation to his house. He makes sure everything perfect, knowing full well tonight will be the night he tells her how he feels... until she stands him up.

**Author's Note:** To those that added this story to their alerts/favorites, thank you for giving an OFC fic a chance, and special thanks to my three reviewers, **csiluver99,** **crime reader expert, **and **crime obsessed princess**.

I'm sorry this chapter is about 1,100 words shorter than Chapter 1, but I hope you enjoy it. This story is unbeta'd, so if you find any typos, please let me know!

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Reid looked back at the blank TV screen as if that would suddenly make something inside him click, as if seeing the girl again would help this make sense in his head. Reid's eyebrows furrowed as he tried to formulate some sort of coherent sentence, but his words wouldn't come. Morgan had a _girlfriend? _Since when? He'd always been a player for as long as Reid had known him. When had that changed? And why hadn't any of the team figured it out? Looking around at the rest of the team, he was glad to know he wasn't the only one who hadn't known, hadn't put two and two together. He caught JJ's eye, raising his eyebrows and pursing his lips in silent question. Did anyone know about this? He watched JJ shrug her shoulders and look pointedly to where Garcia had been sitting when the video had started. Reid's eyes widened, glancing quickly at Morgan, who was studying the wood grain of the table in front of him a bit too diligently, then back to JJ. Was she telling him that even _Garcia _hadn't known? JJ's subtle nod and quirked brow was Reid's answer. Even Garcia, Morgan's _best friend, _hadn't known about this girl. Why had he been keeping her a secret from everyone? Maybe because she was so young, younger than Reid. His initial thought as to why Morgan had been so upset was because she was so young, not because they had been intimate, which, seeing as how she was Morgan's _girlfriend, _was a completely legitimate thing to deduce. Still, Reid just couldn't seem to wrap his mind around Morgan having a… "girlfriend?"

Derek had been waiting for that, waiting for someone to say something. He knew, as he was staring at the polished wood tabletop, they were exchanging glances and silently asking each other if any of them suspected a thing. He had tried his hardest not to bring attention to himself these past two months, had tried keeping them from being able to profile him – he hated being profiled. He had been keeping her a secret, because he was kind of afraid of what he'd been feeling for her from day one. That day in the coffee shop had been stupefying for him; he had actually sat and _talked _to someone, felt an emotional connection to someone that he knew he wouldn't be able to only be friends with. It was his fault she had been taken; he should never have called her, should never have asked her out on another date after that, should never have gotten close to her, told her about his job, his life, his family, but he had. He had done all those things, and when he'd been seeing her for two weeks and couldn't lie to himself any longer, when he finally accepted and admitted the fact that he was falling in love, he had bought train tickets, knowing she wouldn't want to drive alone with him, even though she still hadn't told him why, but he could wait for that conversation. He had bought train tickets to New York City, had taken the day off work, and escorted her to The Met, remembering that she'd told him in passing she'd love to visit it, had just walked up to a sculpture he remembered her calling 'Bacchante and Infant Faun,' and asked her, with sweaty palms that he kept continuously wiping on his pants and his heart hammering against his ribs, if she would be his girlfriend. That was the first night he'd seen her smile, really smile, with teeth and dimples and sparkling eyes; she had been breathtaking, and he had decided, then and there, that he would make her smile like that every single day for the rest of his life if she would let him. And here he was, sitting with his team and concentrating ridiculously hard on not crying, because his girl was being strung up like a pig for the slaughter. He looked up to meet Reid's eyes, knowing the genius would see his unshed tears, "yes, girlfriend." Looking over, Derek met Hotch's eyes. The two men knew Hotch had to say it, had to tell Morgan he was too close to the case to work it reasonably, but they also knew he was too close not to work it, either. "I know I'm too close to this case, Hotch, but you cannot keep me from working this." He looked at the older agent, knew he would let Derek work the case, because he'd been in the same boat not too long ago. When it was Hailey who was taken, when it was Hotch who was targeted, Hotch had appointed Derek, because he knew he'd been too close to the case to call the shots, but would never back down from working it completely. Derek wasn't asking to lead this case, he just needed his team on it, needed to know that the best team was working their asses off to get his girl back alive, and his team was the best team. He watched Hotch nod in understanding.

"You know I respect why you need to work this case, Derek, but if I tell you to take a step back, I need to know you'll listen." He felt for the younger agent, knew what it was like to see the woman he loved taken by a man that had spent years taunting him. And the fact that Derek Morgan so obviously _loved _somebody with this much intensity was still astounding to him. He'd seen the change in Morgan, had seen the way he tried to hide it as well. He was smiling more, not so much with his mouth, which he obviously made a conscious effort to keep in a firm line while in the office, but with his eyes. His eyes were lighter, didn't carry as heavy a load as they usually did after each case. He wasn't really surprised no one else had seen it; after all, no one else had been looking for it. Hotch always looked for it, always looked at the members of his team for any signs that they might have other important things in their lives off the clock. He would never punish any member of his team for having those feelings; in fact, he was thrilled Morgan had found someone that made him happy. Everyone should feel that kind of love at least once in their lives. Hotch just liked to know whom he would have to relate bad news to, console, if things went badly in the field. Family was always a given, but boyfriends or girlfriends were something you had to keep your eyes open for, and Morgan had done a good job of hiding his relationship from everyone else on the team. He watched the grateful smile cross Morgan's lips, watched the younger agent nod in acceptance of his terms, before turning to Reid. "Reid, I need you to tell us what you saw in this video; take us step by step through it in case there was anything the rest of us might've missed. Especially the ending; we need to know what set him off." Hotch knew he'd missed things along with the rest of the team. There was a chance even the young genius had missed something since the footage wasn't as clear as it could be.

Reid nodded, and quickly got up to restart the player. He knew it would be easier for the rest of the team to explain what he was seeing as the video was playing. Muting the sound, he quickly walked over to the dry erase board to write as he talked. "The location is obviously the same as the others. Wood-built, aged – possibly a farmhouse or barn. Straight away, it's clear this victim is different from the others, much younger in age. The others looked more like women in their mid to late twenties, but if I had to guess I would assume this was a teenage girl." Knowing that he was talking about Morgan's girlfriend, Reid tried not to look at him as he said this, even if he still didn't understand why Morgan was dating someone so young. "It's obvious from the marks on her body that she's been tortured before. Even from this somewhat pixilated footage, I can clearly spot scars from burn marks, cuts, and seeing it again, I'd say those long marks along her chest and sides were probably made with some kind of thing wiring, possibly a whip, but I'd have to get Garcia to enhance the footage before I could be completely certain." Again, Reid tried not to look at Morgan, but if Morgan knew something about these marks, the team needed to know as well. "Um…" Walking over to the DVD player, Reid cleared his throat as he hit the pause button, turning to Morgan before continuing, "if… uh… if you know anything about her past that could help us, you should tell us now."

Derek was speechless. So many things suddenly made sense – why she always wanted to meet in public places, why she was never alone with him, why she acted more mature than any twenty-two year old he'd ever met, why she rarely smiled, why she didn't like talking about her past. All of the things he'd just let go, seeing as how he didn't like talking about certain parts of his childhood, he'd figured something similar had happened to her, but this was far from similar. Breathing deeply, he scrubbed a hand across his face before resting his elbows on the table, head in hands. "Her name is Riley Seeder. I met her two months ago at a coffee shop. She turned twenty-two last night. We were supposed to have dinner at my house, but," he had to stop himself before his voice broke. Clearing his throat, Derek leaned back in his seat, looking at the ceiling, and feeling his eyes start to prick again. "… it was the first time she'd agreed to meet in private. It was supposed to be the first night we've ever been alone together. I thought she just stood me up. I'm an idiot." He sighed, closing his eyes tight and shaking his head. He knew beating himself up about this wasn't going to help bring his girl back any faster. He needed to tell his team what he knew, but really, what did he know? "She isn't like other kids her age; she's mature, almost wise. She always wore kind of baggy clothes, and she always pulled at her sleeves, like they weren't long enough. She never let me pick her up or offered to drive me; she was afraid of being alone in a car with me. I didn't know why yet. She never told me; I never asked. She always met me in public places, always wore shoes that were obviously made for running – shoes that would help her get away faster. If I had had any idea, any hint of exactly what she's been through, I would've said something before the video started." And he meant it – he would've told the team every single detail he thought was pertinent to the case if he had known those details himself, but he was just as in the dark as they, and he hated it. "I don't even know where she lives." Derek scoffed at how little he'd known about his girl. He thought he'd known the important things – how she made him feel like nothing could come between them, how she always offered an understanding smile and a 'go save a life' when he'd get called into work mid-date. He had thought she was just born and raised to be a nice and understanding person, but now he wondered if that understanding had stemmed from the fact that she had once been a victim, a victim that had obviously gone a long while without being saved.

JJ wrote the name down on her legal pad before standing. "I'll get Garcia to search for any Riley Seeders in this area, see what we can find on her." As she left the room, she took one last look back at Morgan. She felt her eyes prick at the sight of Morgan, jaw clenched tight, nostrils flaring, fighting back tears. She knew that look; he was blaming himself. "This wasn't your fault, Morgan." She watched as the agent met her eyes, watched as he shook his head in disbelief and turned away. With a sigh, JJ turned and headed quickly to Garcia's hole, not sure what to expect when she entered. The door was closed, a good sign that the technical analyst wanted to be left alone. JJ collected herself, mentally preparing herself to console any hurt feelings as best she could while still getting the information she needed to know about Riley Seeder – no, about _the victim. _JJ knew she couldn't get any closer to this victim than the others; if she did, she ran the risk of getting too involved in the case herself. She knew she couldn't compartmentalize as well as the profilers, knew she was already too close to this case, because a good friend, a teammate, was being targeted, and someone he obviously cared deeply for was being tortured and put on display for all of them to see. She tried to imagine how she would feel if someone took Will away from her, knew that she would stop at nothing to get him back. If Morgan got the opportunity, she knew he'd kill The Taunter for what he'd done, just like Hotch had killed The Reaper. With a deep breath, JJ slowly turned the door handle to Garcia's lair, opening the door minutely to give the slightly heavy-set blonde enough time to collect herself before entering fully. "Hey, Garcia?" JJ quickly squeezed through the narrow opening she'd made in the door, closing it behind her so no one would hear or see anything if they walked by. She took in Garcia's form hunched over her computer, the other previous victim's videos playing soundlessly on the overhead monitors, typing furiously as if trying to solve some sort of puzzle – the puzzle that would bring back Riley alive. "What are you working on?" She figured Garcia would talk about her feelings in due time; no need to rush her friend into sharing anything she wasn't ready to.

Garcia never stopped her ministrations, didn't even acknowledge JJ had spoken at first. She was wrapped up in her work; that was the only way she knew to keep her mind off of how hurt she was feeling. "I'm double checking these videos to make sure they're enhanced fully. Reid will probably want to look over them again to see if anything, other than the age of the victim, has changed." The usually bubbly blonde looked up at JJ pointedly from her position over her keyboard, fingers still punching the keys heatedly, sending angry little clack-clack-clacking noises echoing throughout her office space. "Do you need something?" She was upset, obviously so. She knew JJ would let her have her space, knew her friend would be there when she was ready to vent. She wasn't ready yet, and she knew JJ could tell. No matter what reason Garcia came up with in her head, she still just couldn't understand _why _Derek hadn't told her about his love interest. Furthermore, why hadn't she pushed Derek to talk to her when she noticed how much happier he had been lately. She wasn't blind; she may not have been a profiler, but he was her best friend. She knew him inside and out. She'd seen the bounce in his step, had noticed the lilt in his voice when he spoke to her. He'd even used a baby voice with her the day he'd come back from his day off. She had been so shocked that she'd stopped in the middle of typing to turn her full attention on him. He'd shifted nervously when she'd asked him why he was so happy, but he just said he'd had a good night. She had assumed he'd meant he'd had a good lay, but she hadn't noticed his usual 'I just got laid' attitude he normally came in with the next morning. Turns out he had a girl, a steady girl if how upset he was when he came in was any indication. "You got lucky, huh?" she'd asked, expecting his usual little strut out of her office with the sly smirk that told her exactly how lucky he'd gotten. Instead, he'd spaced out, eyes glazed over, a smile slowly etching its way across his face. She had watched him stay like that a few moments before he snapped out of it, leaning down to her level, looking her right in the eye and muttering, "The luckiest I've ever gotten." She was going to question him on it, but he'd promptly kissed her head and left, like nothing had just happened. Why hadn't he told her about the girl then? Why had he waited until she was taken by a sadistic killer? She knew she'd have to ask him about it sooner or later, confront what had made him keep it a secret from _everyone_, but first, she had to get her man's girl back to him. And that's exactly what she intended to do, because no matter how mad, angry, or hurt by Morgan she might be, he was still one of the most important people in her life, and she wasn't about to sit idly by and watch him suffer.

"I have a name I need you to run." JJ watched Garcia look up, silently asking if it was _her _name – the girl Morgan was seeing. JJ nodded while handing over the legal pad, watching Garcia glance at the name before typing it in to her processor. If there was anything on this girl, this Riley Seeder, JJ was certain Garcia would find it. She watched Garcia sit back after hitting enter and joined in watching the computer scan every file in the Virginia area. After a few seconds, a bing sounded and Garcia leaned forward, JJ following close behind. JJ's brows furrowed, not understanding fully what she was reading. She shared a glance with Garcia, making sure she was reading the information correctly. "Page the conference room, Garcia. The rest of the team needs to know about this immediately. And start running a nationwide search." She watched the other agent hit the conference room call button on her phone before turning to another screen. Hearing Hotch's voice over the speaker, JJ lifted the phone to her ear. She wasn't sure how Morgan would react to hearing this information, was glad she wouldn't have to be there to physically witness it. "Hotch, I have a current address, but we have a problem. Riley Seeder has only existed for five years. Before that, there's no record of her or any family she might have had in the area. I've got Garcia running a nationwide search, but so far, no hits."

Hotch looked over at Morgan, who was staring disbelievingly at the phone. "Thank you, JJ. Send that address to Prentiss's PDA, and keep digging. There has to be something that can help us." Hotch pressed the end button on the phone, knowing they had to address this matter immediately. He didn't want to take any chances with his team, and he knew that as a profiler, Morgan would have at some point profiled his girlfriend. "Rossi, you and Prentiss go search her house for anything that might help us find the victim." He watched Prentiss stand and exit the room, glancing momentarily at Morgan along the way, Rossi following close behind. Hotch walked to the chair across from Morgan's, sitting down before leaning forward in his chair, elbows resting on the table. "Morgan, if you know anything else about Riley that will help us, you need to tell us now." Hotch watched Derek closely, watched his brow furrow, a frown crease his mouth. He knew this would be hard for Morgan, but he also knew it had to be done. The team would usually talk to the family or close friends of the victims to ensure they had a correct victimology. Without having any information on the victim's family, Hotch knew the best way to get to know Riley was to ask Derek. "Derek," Hotch waited for the younger agent to meet his eyes before continuing, "I need you to tell me, as a profiler, not her boyfriend, what you know about her." He watched Morgan shake his head with a far off look in his eyes, as though he were remembering.

"All I know, without a doubt, is that she's clearly been a victim before. And judging by the tape, her refusal to scream, what little I know about her, she'll never give him what he wants. She's strong, stronger than she appears. She's stubborn, and definitely a fighter. She's smart; if she thinks of any way she can help us find her, she will." Morgan sighed, shrugging. "That's all I got, Hotch." He met his supervisor's eyes, happy with himself for finally switching from boyfriend to profiler long enough to actually help his girl. He knew he needed to start thinking about her as 'the victim,' but he also knew that was a very unlikely thing to happen anytime soon. He looked back at the paused TV screen, where his girl was strung up on display, just like all the other victims. Derek studied the image, looked for anything that would tell him where his girl was, but came up short, just like all the other times. Reid was right; it was shot in the exact same place as all the other videos, but so far, they'd never been able to track anything down. They'd scoured and searched for every possible farm building and barn within the area, but always came up empty handed. He hoped this time would be different, hoped he'd profiled his girl correctly, hoped she would think of a way to help them find her.

Hotch was proud of Morgan. He'd done an extremely hard thing, switching off his feelings to give a decent profile of the victim. It was something Hotch had had an extremely hard time doing when Hailey had been taken by The Reaper. It was the main reason no one was allowed to work on a case they were too close to, but Morgan had overcome the hardest part of working a personal case. Hotch had watched the struggle in his eyes, the feelings swimming just below the surface. Hotch could tell Morgan wanted to cry, but was refusing, not wanting his team to see him that way, just as he hadn't wanted his team to see him exposed in Chicago. Hotch had seen, already knew, how hard Morgan worked to switch back to work mode after being dropped a bomb like this. He offered a small, supportive smile to the agent. "That'll do, Morgan. Reid, please continue telling us what you saw." He watched the young genius nod and walk back over to the player to resume the video.

"The fact that he addresses Morgan directly in this video, which he doesn't do in any of the others, suggests that something's happened to make him go off script. I'm thinking right now that it has something to do with the victim. Since we know that he most likely begins the torture before recording, I'm thinking she's already upset him by refusing to scream, so he's trying to prove to her that he's the one in charge." It was easier for Reid to talk about the victim once Morgan had switched back to being a profiler instead of someone emotionally attached to the victim. On the dry erase board, Reid had been writing a shorthand version of the video synopsis for any of his team to reference if needed. He glanced back at the video quickly, seeing the first shock of the victim. "Right there, notice after he shocks her, he says, 'I want to hear you scream, Sweetheart,' almost like he has a preconceived notion of a relationship between himself the victim. However, it was clear before that he said the term of endearment with a heavy level of disgust, which indicates that he doesn't want this relationship with the victim, but he has to have it. When she refuses by saying, 'I will never scream for you,' he lashes out, walking off camera momentarily I assume to up the power level he's using to shock her. He says, 'I will make you scream' with emphasis on 'will,' almost like he's not only telling her, but reassuring himself that he has the power over the victim. This is when she sets him off. See the way her stomach contracts? It's almost as if she's regurg…" Reid walked closer to the footage, brow furrowed and mouth slightly open in concentration, seeing how the victim's body tensed heavily as she quickly closed her mouth, like she was holding something in. He watched from his peripheral as The Taunter stepped closer, like he was expecting something, but Reid never took his eyes off the victim. It was something she had done that had set him off, and he had to be certain before he said anything to the others. When he saw the victim's throat contract and release, the victim's lips part into a weak, but satisfied smirk, Reid knew for sure what he was seeing. It was rare for Reid to feel ill over something like this. After all, he worked for the FBI, solving some of the worst cases in America. He'd seen things, felt things, that some people couldn't even fathom, but what he was watching this victim do, was causing the blood to drain from his face. "Guys, she just…" Reid turned back to Morgan and Hotch, who were looking at him expectantly. The young agent cleared his throat, rewound the DVD shortly so the other two agents could see exactly what he was referring to, and walked back over to the board, beginning to write as he spoke. "Her stomach contracts as though she's regurgitating. She clenches her mouth shut, suggesting that she's holding it in her mouth. When the UnSub steps forward, if you look close enough, you can see that she obviously swallows and then opens her mouth as if to prove what she's done. That's when the UnSub's anger becomes uncontrolled and he strikes her unconscious." Reid turned back to the conference room table, sitting heavily in a chair. "Hotch, if this were a male victim displaying these same tactics while being tortured, I would say without a doubt that he was at some point a prisoner of war."

* * *

**A/N: **I think it's fairly obvious that I have absolutely no idea whatsoever the horror POWs go through. I've been told only once by someone who's been there, that if there was ever a chance you were about to get cuaght by any military that wasn't US, it would be better to just blow yourself up with a grenade than be a POW. I hope I in no way demeaned or belittled what POWs go through by comparing my victim with one. If I did, I'm sorry.

As always, please let me know what you think!


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